Shoulder
by Soncnica
Summary: One dislocated shoulder. Check.


**A/N: Because I watched the movie last night and I wanted to write a simple hurt fic. I own nothing and I am sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes. Enjoy.**

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"Okay, so … they hung people here," Dean waved his arms around the place, spreading them wide to encompass every little corner of the park, "back in the old days, huh?"

"Yup… hung them up right there," Sam pointed to a tree a little further down the path, "and buried them a little further down, up on that hill."

"Fun times. Fuuuun times." Dean said and casually walked down the park's path. He would've been whistling if he was that kind of a guy.

-:-

They were just checking the place out, getting the feel of it, just two more people having a late afternoon walk in the park. Nothing suspicious about that. Nothing wrong with that, because apparently normal people do that all the time. So, yeah … just two guys having a late afternoon walk.

They passed by an elderly couple, who hid their hands in woolen gloves, their faces in yellow woolen scarves. It was probably all home knitted, because some normal people do that. Knit stuff.

They passed by a jogger with cheeks and nose as red as blood, huffing out big clouds of air. Sam jogs, so at least the 'normal' of them is 'normal'.

They passed by a girl with a white cap and long, light brown hair peeking out. Dean smiled at her and she smiled back shyly, stuffing her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat.

They passed by a boy with a dog, that kept jumping on him and licking him. Sam turned his eyes away.

They passed by a family with two young kids, a boy and a girl. A stray snowball hit Dean square in the chest. He laughed and threw one back at the boy, because maybe that was what normal people did.

They passed by an old woman barely being able to carry her grocery bags, they could see by the way she held her arms and back, but her face was pure determination and they knew that if they'd offer help, it would not be accepted. Sometimes normal people, they guessed, had to prove something to themselves too.

They passed by a group of students, talking about their English literature exam. Dean thought for a split second that Sam still missed school, but a glance at his brother and he saw that Sam hadn't even noticed them.

They passed by a lady that threw her cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it with her high heels. Neither Dean nor Sam thought she was very ladylike after that.

The path was cleared of snow, but their shoes were still making crunching sounds while they walked, the asphalt beneath their boots covered with thin ice.

Dean hunched himself more into his blue jacket and saw Sam do the same. It was cold, cold, cold and the sun was just about to fully set, which would make the air even colder. Winter was depressing enough, but with the sun going down at four in the afternoon, it was just adding to the already deep rooted gloominess in some people's blood.

But they didn't have time for winter depression, they didn't have time to think about when the sun was gonna set, they didn't have time to think about 'normal' when there was no such thing for them. They had a job to do. A salt and burn to keep their mind of the fact that their Dad was missing and they had no idea where he was. If he was still even alive.

-:-

"That tree."

Sam pointed out and Dean whistled.

"Whoah, it's … huuuuge."

It was. Huge. It was an oak tree, with strong, thick, long branches that could withstand the weight of a grown man being hanged from one of them.

The tree was probably different a couple of hundred years ago, but … it was probably just as scary as it was now. Still as magnificent and beautiful.

"Thieves, killers, murderers … they all hung from here, huh?"

"Yup."

Sam said and started to circle the tree, running his hands up and down the nearly frozen bark, chirping away some snow that hung to the small dents in the trunk.

Dean stood under it; straining his neck to see up, up, up to the top of the oak. The sky was painfully dark blue. If only the tree could talk. It would say a damn lot of stuff, probably, because time brought it lots of things to see.

"Grave?"

"Uh, a few feet up."

Sam pointed up the path, his finger red with how cold it was outside. After a few more trees lining the walkway, a small hill started to rise up. It was covered in shining snow, but where the graves were, the hill was cleared and crosses were standing there like solders on guard.

"Funny how they buried them, I mean … usually they buried criminals in unmarked graves, if they buried them at all."

"Usually, yeah. But here … this was a warning, so that no one would dare to…"

"… mess with the people. Okay, so … do we know which grave is from our ghost?"

"Yeah, the third from the left."

"Awesome."

Dean stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets: "So … can we go eat now or is the trip not over yet?"

"Yeah, we can go."

Sam glanced at the tree one last time and started walking behind Dean, his cheeks freezing even more, when cold air hit them.

If the tree could talk …

-:-

The thing with winter darkness was … it was dark. Especially when the moon just wasn't there to light the ground.

And the thing about black darkness was that you couldn't see very well. Especially if your flashlight was knocked out of your hands.

And the thing about not having a light to illuminate your way was … you could get jumped on and pushed into a tree.

And the thing about being pushed into a tree was that if you were pushed at it at just the right angle … you could dislocate your shoulder so easily, it made your head spin. Or shoulder for that matter.

And the thing about your head spinning was that you didn't know where up and down was and you could stumble and fall.

And the thing about that was … you could crack a rib in the process of falling too.

"Sam!"

He yelled and rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark sky. No stars, just darkness and puffs of his hot breath.

"Dean!"

He groaned and pushed himself up from the ground just in time to see the ghost going up in white sparkles that illuminated the dark air around him.

The light made him blink a few times and in one of those blinks Sam's face appeared in front of him, hands raised up and reaching for his shoulders: "Dean?"

"Don't … touch … meeee!"

He hissed and growled through tightly clenched teeth, while stumbling like a drunken man towards the nearest tree.

-:-

"Dean?"

Sam walked behind Dean, his arms open wide, bracketing his brother's body, but not touching, because that was not what his brother wanted. He made that perfectly clear. He was just there in case Dean would stumble and fall; he'd be able to catch him.

"Shoulder … son of a bitch!"

He heard his brother whisper-yell, because one could never be too careful, and groan and stumble his way to a tree that was standing still and strong in front of their eyes.

"Dean, man, what's wrong?"

He was hovering behind Dean, watching helplessly as his brother stumbled on shaky legs to the tree and stopped; staring at it like it was salvation. And then … Dean hit his shoulder into the tree trunk with as much force as he could.

Then there was a sound of something cracking and Sam wished it was the tree splitting in two, but he knew that wasn't it. And then … Dean's scream tore through the air.

"Crap … Dean, shh … shit … man …"

He stepped closer to his brother just in time to catch his slow slide to the ground. He gripped Dean around his waist, rested his left hand over Dean's heaving stomach and hooked the fingers of his right hand into his belt loops.

-:-

"You good?"

He heard Sam's voice whisper into his ear from somewhere behind him. Somewhere all around him.

He couldn't answer with words. He just breathed in and out and that was all he could do. His shoulder was throbbing but at least it was set right now.

He rested his forehead on the tree trunk, felt its uneven surface dig itself deep into his skin. He dug his fingers into the bark, fighting to get some self-control back.

He breathed and swallowed down when he felt saliva running out of his mouth; like a drooling dog.

When the knives in his shoulder stopped sticking their hot tips into the muscle he thought about why wasn't he on the floor yet?

"Dean, you good?"

And the warm air that hit him on his nape with those words brought the answer.

Sam was holding him up. His little brother was holding him up.

Uh, could things be even more embarrassing?

"Let go of me…"

He grunted and prayed that Sam would do as asked; otherwise he'd just have to push him off. Somehow.

"You're such an idiot, man."

Dean laughed … a full out laugh that he knew Sam would feel in his bones.

"Got my shoulder set, didn't … didn't I?" he breathed out, rubbing his forehead on the tree trunk.

"You watched Lethal Weapon way to many times."

"Yeah well, it worked, didn't it?"

He knew Sam just shook his head at that and thought that he needed to stop watching TV so much. He knew his brother. The kid had lived in his pocket since he was born.

"You know, I could have done that for you. You didn't have to run into the tree."

"Yeah but man, did it get the blood going. Woooh, what a rush."

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah well … so … are you gonna let me go soon?"

"You wanna get your face stuck in the snow?"

Dean thought about that a little. No, he really does not wanna get cozy with the snow.

"Let's go to the car. I need a beer."

"You need ice and to lie down."

"Whatever."

He_ allowed_ Sam to help him get back to the car, otherwise the kid would whine and whine; it wasn't far, but with a throbbing shoulder and a cracked rib, the walk seemed endless. He felt like he was carrying a bag of cement on his back and at least ten knives in his shoulder all with their tips pointed directly at his muscle. To be honest, if his brother hadn't been dragging him all the way to the car, he wouldn't be able to make it.

He needed a beer. So badly.

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**The End.**


End file.
